


Captive

by InquisiAzrael



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dragon Age Quest: The Wrath of Heaven, Gen, Haven, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-17
Updated: 2016-08-17
Packaged: 2018-08-09 09:15:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7796038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InquisiAzrael/pseuds/InquisiAzrael
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Azrael finds herself once again in an unwelcome position. Taken prisoner, blamed for a crisis she hasn’t even seen. The Conclave, destroyed. How? How is it only she survived when she had attended just as the deceased had? The Outcast tries to remain strong in the face of her interrogators, but her resolve is crumbling. What happened that left these shemlen so adamant for answers? Ones she does not possess? The mysterious mark on her hand seems to be at the center of it all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Captive

Her knees dug into the smooth, stone blocks that composed the floor. A continuous rush of empty wind could be heard in the background, but no draft was found. She wished their had been at least a small amount of airflow, her senses craving the scent of clean winter and fresh snow. Not only was she devoid of a fresh breeze, but it was a ghastly temperature, set on the verge of uncomfortably chilly but bearable, although her fingers felt like chunks of river ice. She would have preferred freezing over this partial cold.

It appeared that she had once again been “misplaced”. For the third time to be exact, but who was counting? What was it with her and mysterious visits to shady places, she wondered. She didn’t have to physically move, just close her eyes and, poof! Welcome to another sketchy scenario. Couldn’t she end up at a quiet patch of woodland, one that had an enticing hot spring? Yes, she was still fawning over that bath. The fantasy sent rivulets of goosebumps creeping up her neck. She really wanted that bath.

Her arms ached from prolonged disuse and were draped uselessly over cramped legs gone numb from loss of circulation. The stinging sensation of invisible needles prickling throughout her lower body urged the Dalish mage to change position or at least shift a bit. Anything to be rid of the stabbing pinpricks.

The elf began to raise her arms, squeezing her shoulder blades simultaneously to reward her sore muscles with a generous stretch. She was barely able to lift them a hairs-breadth from her thighs before metal bit into the skin around her wrists, prohibiting the motion. Heavy cuffs held the joints firmly in place, savagely cutting into the sensitive, bony areas. 

Another pain caught her attention, this one more of a continuous throbbing centered within her left palm. It felt like an insistent pressure beneath the soft skin, or a dull ache only more intense, more concentrated.

Fatigued eyes slowly drifted open. Despite being passed out for a majority of her past several traipses, she did not feel rested at all. And that tension in her palm, it felt as though something living was in there. It pulsed rhythmically and beside the ache there was a sort of tingling sensation. Addled, she twisted her hand, peering down at the appendage. A sudden burst of green light emanated from a shallow scar on her palm, causing the elf to cringe as the spark sent waves of spasms and unnatural heat shooting up her forearm.

Azrael bit into her lip, attempting to hold back a groan. Her efforts to stay silent were thwarted as a hiss slipped past her teeth. She waited for the flare to dissipate, balling her fingers into a fist as it sputtered out. As soon as it did, a heavy, wooden door several feet in front of her burst open, swinging on its hinges to crash with a violent thud. That’s when Azrael realized that she was being held captive. 

…Perfect.

In the time it took her to dawdle about her aches and pains she never once viewed her surroundings. The room in which she knelt was dark, lit only by several flickering torches. Cells lined three of the walls, all empty. Odd for a prison, or was this just a simple dungeon for holding people like her? A silent smirk twitched at the corners of her mouth. ‘People like her’. She sighed mentally. If only they knew.

Ringed around her were four soldiers, all with swords drawn and pointed. If she leaned far enough, she could have easily brushed up against the blades. Not that she was going to try. Their expressions, the ones not hidden behind scarves, held a mix of emotions. She saw ferocity and stoicism, pain and sorrow, all battling to control the wearer’s features. But what intrigued her most was the one emotion each had plastered beside the others. The one that did not leave there eyes as the others came and went. Fear.

Fear of what? Of her? What had she done to earn these terrified looks? A quiet chuckle vibrated through her chest. She existed, that could be why. It sure seemed to both anger and scare her ‘fellow elves’ back home. But these men were not Dalish, not even elves, in fact. Plus she was obviously restrained. So why?

Tensing, her mind discerned the seriousness of her predicament, tossing aside it’s frivolous humor. She was chained, vulnerable….and surrounded by shemlen. Why was it always shems? The four foot soldiers were no longer alone, however. Two more now came through the open doorway, their pace matching their expressions. They meant business.

Both were women, at least Azrael was ninety percent sure of that. The one that led the entourage was surprisingly built. Most likely a warrior. Her hair was cropped short and dark, a braid ringing the crown of her skull. As she stepped within the faint glimmer of the torches, Azrael noted her features. They were strong and stern, yet attractive. The second one stayed concealed within the shadows, just beyond reach of the torchlight.

The first shem began waltzing around Azrael’s huddled form, her gait leisurely yet authoritative. The elf eyed her cautiously from the corner of her vision, keeping her head low, hoping to hide her face within her long hair, only, no hair cascaded down her shoulders to veil her. It had been pinned up. When did she do that? She hadn’t. Between trudging through crowds of people at the Temple to running for her life from creatures of nightmares, she never had the chance. Someone must have done it while she was unconscious. Awfully kind of them to spend a few extra moments to twist her lengthy hair into intricate braids that met in a messy bun.

The thought warmed her briefly. Even if it had been a human, they must have been a considerate one. She held onto the thought for a small span of time, only until the shem behind her spoke, her lips uncomfortably close to Azrael’s left ear.

“Tell me why we shouldn’t kill you now.” Her voice held a rough timbre. And it was loud. Azrael flinched, shying away from the haughty threat. Her ears were still unaccustomed to sound as there had been none for so long. None except the soft trickle of water dripping from somewhere within the chamber.

The human continued her pace, arrogantly plodding around the Dalish. “The Conclave is destroyed. Everyone who attended is dead.” She stood directly in front of the elf’s lowered gaze. “Except for you.” The disgusted sneer in her tone was palpable. Not the first time Azrael had heard that.

They think I did it. Typical. Of course they would blame an elf, especially a Dalish elf. Gradually, Azrael lifted her chin, peering defiantly at the warrior.

“You think I did it?” She voiced her inference, trying to keep a steady tone. She would not appear weak in front of these humans. She was unable to prevent the tremble that accompanied her question, however. Despite her obstinate countenance, Azrael was quivering with fear. She had never been around shemlen before. Seen them, but never mingled with them. Until the Conclave that is, but even then she simply strolled through the crowds, never speaking to anyone. And these shems….were they all like this? Was it common to greet an individual with a threat? Chains and all? No, that was stupid, she knew it, but her worries would not subside. She had absolutely no idea what to do. She was terrified and her steely resolve was disintegrating.

The dark-haired woman seized Azrael’s wrist, raising it high, forcing her to lift her head or risk colliding her top lip with the irons. “Explain this.” Her palm flared to life as if it too wished for an explanation, one she did not hold.

The shem released her arm. Well, threw would be more accurate. The weighty restraints landed heavily, causing fresh cuts to appear at the edges where the metal bit her wrists. Hissing through the sting, the elf’s words stuttered from her tongue, desperate to claim her innocence and prevent further damage. Although her response did not promise either.

“I-I…can’t.” came the trembling answer, the only one she knew.

 

“What do you mean you ‘can’t’?” Both shems were circling her menacingly now, the mysterious one keeping to the shadows while the warrior’s volume increased, losing its patience.

 

“I don’t know what that is or how it got there! I wa-”, Azrael’s voice was flimsy, frantic, searching desperately for an explanation to sate the woman’s hunger for one. She could not finish, however. The warrior had lunged forward, grasping the front of Azrael’s armor in an vice-like grip.

“You’re lying!” She protested, shaking the elf. Her face was twisted into a vicious grimace, teeth bared, eyes burning like hot coals. They promised punishment if she did not get the answers she wanted. Azrael tried pulling away from the woman, confusion and fear mingling on the elf’s features. This close, she noted two scars adorning the human’s face. The one on her right cheekbone was more of a knick than a flesh wound. The second one must have originated from a deeper cut. It was thick and trailed from midway up her left cheek down past the line of her snarling mouth.

 

The second shemlen now intervened, pushing the warrior back several paces, causing her to release the elf.

“We need her, Cassandra.” came the voice from within the hood. It was draped about her head, held in place by two decorated clasps. She was armored as well, although it was mainly sturdy leather and light chain mail. Her hand grasped the other’s broad shoulder. It was a firm hold, one meant to calm and reassure, but also to restrain. Perhaps this shem was more considering? Maybe Azrael could convince this one she had absolutely no idea of what was transpiring right now.

She was frustrated. Frustrated with her predicament as well as herself. She did not want to cower and stutter before these humans. She was stronger than this, but what could she do? Clueless about where she was and why she was being held prisoner, fighting off fatigue and anxiety alike, her inner demons refused to let her retaliate. She wanted to be defiant, she wanted to fight back, but she just couldn’t.

She was lonely. Oh how she hated to admit it, but she was terribly lonely. Sacrificed to go on a damned mission across the Waking Sea, her clan would be ecstatic when they heard she was helpless to return. And she was helpless, not only in body, but in spirit as well.

All her life the only compassion she had ever received came from Keeper Deshanna, a father beyond blood. She despised the sense of longing she harbored after each time he embraced her, her heart craving more but her stubborn will refusing, convinced she needed no one. She knew she was fooling herself. And now there was an entire sea between her and the small acts of love that she so desperately needed right now. Something to still her fears and give her courage. Someone to reassure and calm her. Someone to lean on, something to hold on to, even if they were just a few simple words. That was all she wanted right then and there, chained and battered in some shemlen’s prison. All she needed.

The two women had a brief exchange, one Azrael would have been unable to hear even if she had been attempting to eavesdrop, but the elf was lost within her own grievous thoughts, seeking her own resolution. 

The hooded woman turned to fix her gaze on the elf, pale eyes holding a fire that equaled the warrior’s but was much colder. She was able to mask her emotions, creating a sinister, calculating facade. Maybe Azrael did prefer the brutish one. 

The Dalish attempted to explain once more. “I swear, I had nothing to do with…whatever you’re accusing me of! The Conclave, destroyed? Yes, I was there, but…” Her thoughts flashed back to her time in that ghastly place with the monstrous arachnids. Had she been at the Conclave? Yes, she recalled entering the Temple of Sacred Ashes, marveling at its beauty despite it being of shemlen origin, but after that, her memories began to blur. She remembered mages and templars, brothers and sisters of the Chantry, but nothing more. No ceremony, no negotiations, no explosion. 

“I don’t understand…” her voice was barely audible. Shoulders slumped as she met the human’s questioning stare, her own dark eyes shimmering in the dim light.

 

“Let me go.” Her voice held a mix of firm wrath and frightened urgency, its timbre breaking. Her emotions were in turmoil. She tried to be defiant but her eyes would plead when her voice did not. It was becoming difficult to keep her resolve when confusion dominated her mind. She could feel her will sapping already as the questions continued.

 

“Do you remember what happened? How this began?” The shadowy shem’s hair was the color of fire, cut at chin length. It framed her delicate features as she inquired. The human labeled Cassandra had begun pacing around the elf once more. She couldn’t seem to be silent and immobile at the same time.

Azrael’s brow furrowed in concentration. “I remember…running. Things were chasing me and then…” she combed her amnesic memories. What had that light been? “…a woman?”

“A woman?” The red-haired human’s leather gauntlets created tense fists. That interested her apparently. Her tone urged the Dalish to continue.

 

“She reached out to me, but then…” Azrael looked at her hands. Then she had touched the tip of the woman’s finger. She did not know what happened after that.

 

There was a pause before Cassandra spoke. “Go to the forward camp Leliana. I will take her to the rift.”

Leliana nodded, turning to exit the room. Cassandra now stooped and unclasped Azrael’s restraints, replacing them with a rope that bit into her raw wrists. At least it appeared clean. Hopefully her wounds would not fester.

“What did happen?” the elf ventured cautiously, peering warily at the warrior. She feared another outburst.

 

The shem sighed, looking into Azrael’s distraught gaze. Her contours had softened. They were almost sorrowful. That was unexpected. A flicker of reassurance tickled Azrael’s stomach as she was hefted to her feet. “It…will be easier to show you.”

Cassandra released her grip then, hardening her expression once more before trekking out the same way Leliana had gone. 

Azrael breathed a shaky sigh. She wasn’t heading north anytime soon it seemed. And the Conclave. Destroyed. If she was to believe a shemlen. How could such events have occurred exactly where she had been, and yet she could not remember any of it. How had she survived?

Nothing to do but find out for herself. This was her mission after all. Discover what happened at the Conclave, or to it in this case. But all she could do was think about how Deshanna was going to kill her if the shems didn’t first. He had insisted on her safe return. He had been the only one.


End file.
